Between Walls
by Ranier
Summary: [Alternate Universe] Fujiko, a professional companion--weaver of happy memories for the paying customers--takes up Atobe Keigo's offer to resolve the skeletons hidden between walls. Atobe x Fuji.
1. Living

Ego Stroke: My first TeniPuri fic! This is also my first time doing romance, so any suggestion to improve is much welcomed. I hope you enjoy it.

Pairings: Atobe x Fuji, Oishi x Eiji.

Rating: PG-13, but may change.

Summary: Alternate Universe Fujiko, a professional companion--weaver of happy memories for the paying customers--takes up Atobe Keigo's offer to resolve the skeletons hidden between walls. Atobe x Fuji.

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Konomi Takeshi, various publishers including but not limited to Shueisha and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Between Walls**

Chapter One: Living

He stepped out of the bath tub, droplets of water dripping from his lithe form, and wrapped himself with a towel. The young man's skin glowed under the soft white lights above him. His light brown hair hung limply, wet, pestered to both sides of his face. With an automated-like motions, he rubbed himself dry. The face, chest, the legs, the arms, and lastly the hair. Each parts of his body was given a deliberate amount of attention, as if he was making sure that he had done a thorough job at cleaning himself. On closer inspection, one could see that the skin under his vigorous scrubbing had turned red, but still he persisted. The only thing in his mind was to be as filth-free as possible. The surface pain didn't matter.

The young man took a deep breath, there was no more droplets to dry away. Now he felt the chill on his damp skin. Shivering lightly, he put his silk bathrobe on. When the cool material touched his skin, he felt dirty all over again. Fists clenched, he had to tell himself that it did _not _matter, that however many baths he took this feeling of uncleanliness would still linger. He knew that, didn't he? He was not stupid. Taking a bath had become an act of refuge because the scalding hot water seemed to be able to wash layers of sin away, but when it had turned lukewarm the young man knew that he would soon regain the dirt. Hopeless.

A voice from the other side of the door brought him back to reality.

"Fujiko, are you quite done?"

"Wait a minute," he rasped and gathered his articles.

"I heard that it was your turn tonight with Sasaki-sama," the voice said with a sneer.

"Yes," was his only answer before opening the sliding door that separated him from the other person. "It's empty now," he said.

"Argh, you steamed the mirror!" the red-head in front of him exclaimed.

"Sorry," the young man said without meaning it. When Muu-chan passed him, he could smell the expensive cologne of a certain gentleman.

Casually the young man called Fujiko asked, "Oshitari-sama was here?"

The petite red-head stiffened before sending him a glare, "Who else? You know he's the only one who still wants me these days."

"Saa..." Sometimes Fujiko wondered why the renowned corporate lawyer kept going back for private encounters with Muu-chan. Of course he knew that some hefty sum of money had been transferred to the Club's bank account to keep Mukahi free at most of the time. Well, maybe Oshitari-sama's infatuation with the pretty Muu-chan ran deeper than just the pleasure of flesh.

How peachy it was if it had been true.

"Oh, Shuuko-kun asked for you downstairs. I think he has the new list of clients for next week," Mukahi told him before closing the bathroom door.

"Hai," Fujiko replied.

He made his way downstairs, still in his bathrobe. Underneath the white embroidered silk, he wore nothing. In this establishment, one did not care for modesty. All sense of propriety should be left at the door, along with the numerous pairs of gentlemen shoes. He liked it that way, no pretense whatsoever. Those who frequented the Club had every intention of escaping the outside world and they better acted like they meant it.

Noiselessly he walked down the dimly-lighted hallways, closing one of the doors on his way to meet Shuuko. He had caught glimpses of naked limbs and discarded pieces of clothing before quickly averting his eyes and shutting the sliding doors. Mentally he made a note to later remind Saeki about it. Honestly, his friend was as careless as ever.

Once he reached the largest room in the house, only the hand-painted _fusuma _doors separated him from a piece of paper with names written on it. His clients for the week to come. For one moment, Fujiko thought of turning his back and left, pretending that he had not known of its existence. Let Shuuko worry, he needed to put as much delay as possible between this week and the next. The endless stream of clients had taken its toll and he was dead tired.

Yet Fujiko opened his mouth, "Shuuko-kun, you asked for me?"

Rustling of papers was heard before a sleepy voice answered, "Fuji? Is that you?"

Without waiting for admittance, the young man slid the _fusuma _open and entered the room. He glanced around the neat space and when his sight fell on the hunched figure leaning on top of the _kotatsu_, he smiled genuinely._ He is as tired as I am._

Closing their distance, Fujiko reached out to put his arms around the other man's shoulders, "Shuuichiro, you should not sleep like this. Eiji will have my head if he finds out that I'm not taking a good care of you."

The man called Shuuichiro grinned, traces of sleep still evident on his eyes. "You called me Shuuichiro," he said with a bit of wonder. "It's been a long time since anybody called me that. Even Eiji called me Oishi."

"Saa...you are the only one here who still calls me Fuji."

"No..." Shuuichiro shook his head as if he wanted to correct the statement, but then he thought the better of it and swallowed the rest of the sentence.

Fuji knew what his friend wanted to say. _There is another person_.

"I miss him, you know?" Shuuichiro said suddenly.

Fujiko's grip on the other man's shoulders tightened. He knew who Shuuichiro was referring to. There was, no, there _had _been another person who would call his true name as if it was the sweetest thing in the world. In his deep voice, Fuji's name became soft caresses in which the young man greedily thrived upon. Not anymore. The person was gone.

Dead.

"I miss him too," Fuji croaked a reply. He thought that he was strong enough not to break everytime Shuuichiro offhandedly mentioned that person. How wrong he was. It didn't help that Shuuichiro would not let the matter be. Fuji guessed his friend had still not been able to accept the loss. Then again, it was a cruel death.

"I am sorry, Fuji."

"That's okay."

Silence fell between them, heavy as a thick blanket. Shuuchiro had taken the scattered papers on the kotatsu and tried to organize them. Fuji did not move from his position, still embracing his apologetic friend. He wanted to scream, to cry out that it was not okay, dammit, it was _not _okay. Yet the man his clients called Fujiko and his friends called Fuji only smiled a bitter smile. He had to smile, otherwise things would not get better, otherwise he would not forget.

Shuuichiro patted his hand lightly and Fuji removed his arms. He took a seat beside his friend and wiped his face with both hands. Briskly, he readjusted his bathrobe to conceal his bare legs. Shuuichiro would not appreciate the view, he thought. Neither would Eiji, as a matter of fact. Close friends as they were, Fuji knew that Eiji and Shuuichiro shared something much more than just a room.

When Shuuichiro had finished rearranging the papers into one neat pile, Fuji asked, "Who do you have for me, Shuuichiro? I swear, they come by the dozens just to tire me."

"Aa, that's the thing, Fuji," the other man answered hesitantly, and added, "This time I only have one client for you."

Fujiko, the professional, blinked.

"One?" he asked.

"Yes, one. Apparently he's rich enough to reserve six appointments ahead, for every day of next week."

"But, only one? Oh...he wants a full-day service, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Look, we can always decline his requests. Just tell me and I will make up a reason for you," Shuuichiro offered.

"Saa...it's okay, really. He must be very wealthy then?"

"Very."

"You're not going to tell me his name, aren't you?" Fuji sighed.

"I was hoping you won't ask."

A pair of sharp sapphire eyes opened a little to get a better look at Shuuko. Fuji could see his friend fidget a little before avoiding his eyes. _Something is wrong._

"Who is it, Shuuichiro?" his voice now grew stern.

The answer came as a whisper, but it was enough to take Fuji aback.

"Atobe Keigo."

- - - - - -

To be continued

- - - - - -

Author's Note:

I took the liberty of referring to Oishi as Shuuichiro (or Shuuko, blame Episode 132), and Mukahi Gakuto as Muu-chan. I hope I'm not confusing anyone.

The suffix -sama here refers to a person of higher social standing. The Club is a business establishment and to honor its patrons (outside of its circle), the suffix -sama is used.

Fusuma: Japanese painted sliding doors that separated rooms and hallways.

Kotatsu: A low, open wooden frame covered by a blanket, upon which a table top sits. Underneath is a heat source, often built into the table itself.


	2. When First We Met

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Konomi Takeshi, various publishers including but not limited to Shueisha and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Between Walls**

Chapter Two: When First We Met

_He who angers you conquers you._

--Elizabeth Kenny

They sat facing each other in the lush Pearl of Madagascar room. Green velvet drapes covered the walls and a matching Persian rug was sprawled in the middle. At the four corners of the room, scented candles burned brightly. The heavy fragrance engulfed both figures, one who sat comfortably on the floor surrounded by cushions, tucking his knees sideways, and one who sat properly on the sofa. They said nothing. Waiting. Two very different person, the companion–Fujiko, ever the professional–and the client, Atobe Keigo, heir to the Atobe dynasty.

Fujiko openly assessed his client.

The well-groomed man in front of him exuded nothing but charisma and confidence. There was an air of dignity of one who had been living luxuriously all his life, one who would not accept anything other than the very best. His attire certainly proved that. Black, pinstriped, custom made three-piece suit, double breasted with gold-rimmed ivory buttons–of the highest quality craftsmanship–and a compliment of a wine red silk tie adorned this tall, handsome man. On a lesser person the combination would look ridiculous, but Atobe Keigo was anything but ordinary. He pulled it off with grace and easy demeanor. Fujiko let his gaze traveled lower. The immaculate, black leather shoes sported no sign of wear whatsoever. It was brand new.

_Damn, he's loaded._

"Liking what you see so far?" the client's voice was amused.

The companion only smiled politely.

"Let me tell you that everything you see here is the best money can get," Atobe waved, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I can only have the best."

_Including me?_

Of course. That was what he was, Fujiko thought, the very best companion the Club could offer. _I am just_ _another of his playthings._ Nothing else. Fuji silently felt relieved, Atobe's presence had no hidden meanings it seemed.

The polite smile still on, Fujiko asked innocently, "Atobe-sama, are you saying that I can have you if I have enough money?"

The client blinked before bursting into laughter. He liked this Fujiko, this ridiculous but clever little man who insinuated that there was enough money in the world to buy Atobe-sama!

His mirth subsided, Atobe Keigo took a better look at the companion he reserved for the next six days. Now he knew why he had to wait for months and pay quite a sum just to take a look at the demure person in front of him. God, he was beautiful. Not pretty, no, but elegantly beautiful. The delicate face was framed with stylish light-brown hair, hanging just below the ears in uneven lengths giving the companion a carefree look. Fujiko's cast down eyes (Atobe didn't like that name, it was too feminine for his taste) were hidden beneath the long eyelashes, but he was sure that they had to be quite stunning. And the smile, oh, the smile. So effortless yet guarded and calculated. It was the kind of smile that made people think continuously of the smiling person. His sight trailed down to the hollow base of the other's neck and he found himself a spot that he liked. Oh, he would make sure that piece of skin got as much attention as possible if he could get his hands on him.

Atobe wondered how this person taste underneath the luminous white linen shirt and slacks he wore. Would the skin be as soft as it looked when his lips touched it? Would the slender man fit Atobe's body like he imagined it to be? Would he be warm enough to last the night? To his initial surprise, the companion did not wear any piece of jewelry. He had expected someone much more glamorous than Fujiko (he _really _hated that name now) and yet when this unassuming, simple man appeared Atobe could not feel disappointment. This look suited him. It made him so much more desirable.

Which was a very, very bad thing.

Because if there was one person he couldn't touch, it would be Fujiko.

"I don't like your name, you know," Atobe let his thoughts known. He was getting irritated, staying in the same room with this person. Words like _forbidden _and _guilt _came to his mind, but he brushed the thought away.

"Oh? May I ask why?" The smile never wavered.

_Because that person also hated the name, that's why_, Atobe Keigo answered silently. To the companion he just shrugged and replied, "It's ugly."

"Maa...ugly, ne? Then what will you call me, Atobe-sama?"

"Fuji. I will call you Fuji."

"No," the reply came swift and sudden. Atobe glanced up just to be met with the most startling pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. He was right, they _were _stunning, but what caught his attention was the determination behind them. Fujiko was serious, he would not let Atobe call him Fuji. Though at least, Atobe thought, he was no longer putting on that patented smile.

"Why not? It's shorter and it suits you better," Atobe pressed on, wanting to see further reaction from the slim man.

"Any name other than that," Fuji (Atobe had thought of him as Fuji, anyway) straightened up, as if challenging him to dare change his mind.

"No, I like Fuji better. Besides, what's the problem?"

"Fujiko is what all clients call me. You are one, Atobe-sama. Please do not forget that." The eyes had turned cold, but the voice was as indulging as ever.

Atobe was quite impressed by Fuji's little act, although he did not show it. Instead he pushed another button, "As you said it, I _am _the client. Isn't it your job to please me?" Another smirk.

With a flick of hair, the companion gestured his impatience. Both arms crossed in front of his chest, he turned his head a bit to the side, just enough to give Atobe the impression of resignation. Slowly he looked up, searching Atobe's face, and said softly, "I really do not want to be upset over something trivial like this..." and let the rest of the sentence trailed on.

Pretending to be ignorant of Fuji's intention, Atobe quickly replied, "Well then, it's good that you stop being so stubborn. Now don't fret anymore. Shall we continue, Fuji?"

A slight frown appeared on the beautiful face. "Really, Atobe-sama, if you are going to be difficult, we should end this appointment."

This time Atobe Keigo blinked in disbelief. Did Fuji just call him difficult? Him? The perfect son of Atobe family? Why, he never! All his life he had been a perfect child, fulfilling his elders' every expectations with a good amount of obedience, and he had never been chided. How dare this...this...(Atobe struggled for a degrading word but could not bring himself to utter it, even though he was talking inwardly) _person _talked down to him like that!

"You...," Atobe's eyes had turned into slits, "are the one who is being difficult, _Fuji-kun_."

The companion suddenly stood up and walked towards the sitting patron until they were just inches apart. Fuji bent down and captured Atobe's eyes in his own. Atobe felt a shiver down his spine looking at the chill in the piercing blue eyes. He knew the source of the growing fear in him. It was the hatred reflected in those orbs, such hatred that he would not forget soon. He caught a whiff of Fuji's perfume and it choked him. Words were forming in his head, but none came out.

"I don't know why I agreed to this assignment in the first place," Fuji began in low voice, "but it's obvious that I have made a mistake."

Atobe tried to protest, but was effectively silenced by a finger upon his lips.

"This meeting is over, Atobe-sama. Consider the upcoming affairs to be cancelled as well. All expense will be compensated and I do hope that I will never see you again," Fuji drawled out the last sentence, his intention made clear. He wanted nothing to do with Atobe Keigo. Ever.

They shared a past together, whether Atobe knew or not, and it was a period best left forgotten. Fuji didn't want to invoke the bleak ghost of time, but Atobe's presence there had threatened the safe cocoon he built around his mind. Wherever Atobe was concerned, there could only be pain.

And the way he tried to call him with his true name just now...

_Does he know?_ _Did he do it intentionally because he knows who I am?_

Fuji swallowed a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Please leave."

_Leave and never come back. Please._

If Fuji thought that Atobe was going to give up just like that, he was sorely mistaken. A strong grip caught Fuji's arm before he could react. With a punishing strength, the lighter companion was brought down to the sofa, pinned under the weight of one angry Atobe Keigo. Shock registered briefly on Fuji's face before his unbreakable mask took place again, but Atobe didn't care about that right now. He was livid.

"Listen you, I don't want to be here as much as you do. But he made me, he _made _me promise that I would see you," Atobe practically spat the words out.

Each word he spoke stabbed Fuji's heart and re-opened the wound he had been trying to heal for the past year. Atobe's grip had also become tighter, hurting the flesh underneath. Fuji would have unsightly bruises up his arms tomorrow, thought at this moment his mind was not paying attention to the crushing pressure applied on his limbs. Atobe's words, ambiguous as they might be, were anything but.

_Atobe knows._ _He knows all along about me._

"If it weren't for _him_, I won't be in this damned place!" growled the man on top of him.

Fuji knew who he was talking about. They both knew the unspoken name of one person who bound them in these tangled strings of fate and hostility. That person, so conveniently dead and away from the living emotions, was the only similarity they have between them. Fuji blinked back the fresh tears that threatened to spill out and gasped to breathe. He would not let Atobe Keigo have the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. Not again.

Finally Fuji found his voice, "If-if it weren't for you, he would still be alive, wouldn't he?"

The body on top of him went still, eerily so. Fuji was painfully aware of Atobe's breathing male body and his warmth, but he loathed the man so much the slightest touch left him disgusted. To make it worse, as if Atobe knew how much this flesh to flesh contact affected Fuji, he inched closer so that his face was directly on top of the companion's.

Atobe lowered his head and breathed down to Fuji's neck, whispering, "I will make you sorry that you've ever said that."

Ignoring the alarms that had gone off in his head, Atobe proceeded to attack the exposed skin on the neck he had been aching to taste since the first time he laid his eyes on the other man. With slow, deliberate motions he sucked, bit, and caressed the tiny flesh. He was right again, the skin was as smooth as it looked. Fuji was warm and smelled of a light, intoxicating scent that he could not name. Atobe knew that he could lose himself right there, on that delicate flesh, and won't care if he could not find his way back. He wanted more but he felt the lighter man squirming beneath him and pushing back, without too much success because Atobe was heavier. Disappointed, Atobe sealed the contact with one last kiss to the wet spot.

"I will come back tomorrow," he breathed heavily. "Refund is not acceptable. Refuse me and I will make sure that the Club exists no longer," he told the slightly flushed companion.

Before Fuji could talk back, Atobe Keigo had abruptly removed himself and left the room. Only the scent of his cologne lingered on Fuji's body.

And the love bites.

Fuji put hesitant fingers on the skin where Atobe's lips had been and shuddered at the memory.

His lips had been warm.

- - - - - -

to be continued

- - - - - -

Author's Note: The title of this second chapter comes from a poem by Robert Bridges (1844- 1930). I like the first two lines: When first we met we did not guess/That Love would prove so hard a master/

The name Pearl of Madagascar is a common name of a species of African orchid that I accidentally stumbled upon one day. Huzzah for google!

Reviewers Appreciation Corner: I thank yoshikochan, the mysterious reviewer with a smiling face, and Nammy for taking time aside to comment on this fic. I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the next one too!


	3. Interlude

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Konomi Takeshi, various publishers including but not limited to Shueisha and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Between Walls**

Chapter Three: Interlude

That evening, he took a long bath again. Ignoring the protests from Muu-chan and the other companions ("It was _not_ your turn yet, godammit!") Fujiko kept the bathroom to himself. He knew that they were wont to use it sooner or later, after all the biological functions did not wait for some silly emotional turmoil to subside. Yes, that was what consuming Fujiko all day after his client had left as fast as he had come. Silly emotional turmoil.

_Let them wet their pants_, Fujiko thought. All he wanted to do was forget what had happened earlier that day. The tub, filled to his neck with the never-ending hot water, seemed to be a good place to stay and clear his mind. He heard the soft _plink, plink_ of fat water droplets making their way down the marble tub. The metal of the sink gleamed against the soft light and Fujiko saw a bud of another droplet forming, slowly and lazily, under the arch of the faucet. It had all the time in the world.

Beneath the water surface, he felt his skin shriveling. The hot water had turned it into a traitor, sending nervous signals to his brain that he needed to get out, now. It felt stretched and invaded, abused beyond necessary in this humid, closed bathroom. The steam had begun to clog his mind and Fujiko wanted to sleep it off. He wondered what would happen if he stayed in the water longer. Boiled, perhaps? Was it even possible?

Then he crawled out the tub. Onslaught of cool air against his relieved skin, Fujiko felt it again. The flushed sensation on his neck. He remembered. The water was supposed to wash it away, but it was still there. The water was not hot enough apparently, it burned his skin no more than Atobe's mark on his neck had been.

_Still, _he said to himself. _It still burns_.

- - - - - -

After close to getting clawed by a very vexed Muu-chan and the others, a slight talk with a worrying Shuuko, and two sleeping pills, Fujiko finally managed to get some sleep. He had no more clients for the day since all of his time had been bought by Atobe, except the said client had only stayed for a better half of an hour or so. Shuuko had been mortified, and alleviated at the same time, to find out that Atobe had not used his time to the fullest. As the procurer, Shuuko worried over Fujiko's performance and the Club's reputation, but as a friend he genuinely felt glad that Atobe, of all people, did not stay long enough.

That night Fujiko dreamed of the past. Usually this kind of dream came to him with sweet tenderness that reminded him of childhood. A sense of completeness would follow in the morning, and the nostalgia would come later. A lover who rarely smiled, but when he did, oh my. In dreams like those, he could feel the barest touches so real he wondered where the barrier between two realities had gone. Happy dreams, consisting only of the happiest fragments of his memories.

When he closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow that night, he dreamed none of those. He dreamed of a dream he used to have when he was a child of ten or eleven. Running, he was always running, from a creature in the dark who gleefully snatched away people he loved. One by one, they fell as its claws curled around their bodies. There was his father, he almost didn't remember his face anymore. One long, ugly finger had forced its long, sharp nails through his father's chest, bones and flesh ripped apart, rain of blood fell down and down from the hole. His father's body dangled like a puppet, held by the hideous finger in the middle of his torso, but he was alive. He was _alive and grinning. _And he always said with the big grin still on,

"Come here, Shuusuke."

- - - - - -

The next thing he knew was the sudden merciless, light that hit his eyelids and a feel of a big hand that shook his shoulders. Fujiko let out a groan. The person kept on shaking him, not quite gently, but when he saw that he was not getting anymore reaction from the sleeping companion, he slid his hand down Fujiko's waist and pinched the warm skin lightly.

"Saeki...," Fujiko let out a sigh. Only one person knew how to wake him up this effectively. "Your hand is cold."

"Never mind that, c'mon. Open your eyes, Fujiko," the voice said, urgent.

Slowly a pair of sapphire blue eyes opened to meet Saeki Kojirou's own grayish blue. Fujiko always wondered how his friend's eyes reflected his mood, all the time. Now they were somber and clouded. _Something's troubling him._

"What time is it?" Fujiko asked, his voice still heavy from sleep.

"I don't know, maybe near dawn," Saeki waved impatiently, "just come with me." A suspicion rose in Fujiko's mind. Saeki was always controlled, he would never be agitated over something trivial.

"What is it, Saeki?"

"Shuuko asked for you. Eiji is here and he...," the silver-haired man did not finish, but he needed not to. His shorter friend quickly abandoned the warmth of his blanket and raced downstairs, towards the room shared by two of his closest friends. Saeki followed close behind. The sound of their footsteps reverberated in the empty hallways, wood creaked against their bare feet. The noise was enough to wake some people up, especially those who had stayed up all night with the clients. In the morning there would be angry, pretty faces with smudges underneath their eyes, but now the two didn't think about it. The deserted space felt heavier with each approaching step, looming.

_Not again. Not again._

The_ fusuma_ slid open with a hard sound of wood against wood. What greeted Saeki and Fujiko was a sight of a crumpled young man, whose one hand clutch his stomach in obvious pain and the other curled around Shuuko's hand. The redhead had his face hidden in Shuuko's embrace, shrilly, soft cries escaped his swollen lips. There were cuts and the first hints of bruises along his arms, and Fujiko had no doubt on some other places as well.

Kikumaru Eiji moaned. Shuuko paled considerably, his free hand on the redhead's shoulder provided support but he wished he could do more than just that. If he could, gods, _if_ he could he _would_ gladly take all of the pain away. Eiji was not built to handle pain, anybody who had seen him move knew that. He was not built to endure, but Shuuko was. He felt a tear ready to fall, and fell it did to Eiji's soft red hair. _It is unfair._

A light touch on his cheek alerted Shuuko of another's presence. He knew without looking up that Fujiko had come. He might've heard the door opened before, but Shuuko had not paid attention. The sight of one white arm reaching over to take Eiji's body left him with a guilty relief._ If Fuji's here,_ Shuuko thought, _everything's all right._ Slowly and almost reluctantly he let Eiji go. With one fluent motion, Eiji had been transferred to Fuji's care, lying upward and still holding his stomach. The cries had ceased, but he still struggled for breath.

"Fujiko-chan...," Eiji gasped between strangled breathing.

"Hush. You know better than to talk. Breathe. It's him again?"

A slight nod.

"Did he hit you in the stomach?"

Eiji shook his head.

Fuji frowned, searching for an explanation, "He _kicked _you?"

A nod.

"The bruises and the cuts too?" Saying that, Fujiko rolled Eiji's shirt up, revealing a redness that is not uncommon when one was hit with something hard. Carefully he fingered and pressed the area, Eiji cried out. It was still tender. Shuuko reacted, but a pair of strong arms stopped him. Saeki held him down. _Don't._

Examining Eiji, Fujiko was silent for a while. Judging from the way Eiji was hurting, the ugly red hue of his abdomen, and his lost of breaths, it was something that Fuji could not make right.

"Saeki, call Dr. Inui," he finally said.

The tall man left the room immediately.

"Shuuichiro, help me get..." Fujiko paused, "Shuuichiro?"

He was silent, eyes closed. Shuuko's hands had balled into fists and through gritted teeth, he answered, "These days, Fuji, I might not be able to handle it anymore."

Fuji could not say anything. Eiji shivered in his arms.

- - - - - -

"He walked?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, that was what he said," Saeki Kojirou answered, looking straight ahead. His gaze fell on the doctor's chin. Even Saeki himself was shorter than Dr. Inui by one good head. The doctor was wearing a black soft cotton sweater and a pair of navy slacks. The man had been called in the middle of the night on emergency and he still came looking as if he'd been out on a casual dinner.

"In his condition? Impressive. There's a seventy percent possibility of ruptured spleen, and he might have excessive blood loss if it does happen. Not to mention the numerous bruises, welts, and scrapes on many places. Some of the cuts are bleeding open. That's common in victims of beatings. You may want to watch out for infections. Tend it with daily cleaning and antibiotics. He's having a slight fever too, and some difficulty of breathing. Did he wear any jacket when he came here?"

"No, I guess not."

"It's twenty-three degrees Celsius outside. Keep him warm, fed him some liquid, and give him the painkillers if necessary. Don't let him out of bed yet, for two or three days. He'll be sore around those time."

A glint from the tall doctor's spectacles caused him to wince. He had listened to what the young doctor had said and none made him felt an especially strong emotion. But just now, the way Dr. Inui shifted his glasses, Saeki knew that there was something more. He looked down.

"Tonight Kikumaru is very fortunate. His spleen could just give up back then and if it's not treated soon, he would've died from blood loss and poisoning. Are you following me, Saeki?"

He nodded, his gaze still focused on the floor. _Yes, I follow you. The next time, Eiji may not be so lucky._

Dr. Inui let out a sigh, one hand ruffled his short hair and in a friendly sort of way he put his hand on Saeki's shoulder and he whispered, "Tell Shuuko to stop accepting whatever happens. It's killing him from the inside, and I'm telling you this because you're his friend and you know how Shuuko feels, don't you?"

Abruptly Saeki jerked back from Inui's grip, but the doctor was stronger. Still in his conspiratorial whisper, he said, "Yuuta asked for you. Go to him."

Saeki went still.

- - - - - -

to be continued

- - - - - -

Author's note: I apologize for the late update. This chapter was supposed to come out a week ago, but life happened. As for the lack of Atobe x Fuji in this chapter, I will make it up in the next one. I have it planned already. It's just that I feel the need to explain the dynamics of people around Fujiko.

On another note, I'm surprised and glad that there are fellow fans out there who like and are interested in this unconventional pairing. Therefore, I would like to thank Wings, Nammy, yoshikochan, WoLfe PaWs, firefly, La Folle, kagami, tezuka eiri, sTaR SnipEr, Yumehime Yana Hossuru, Yuna, Kamitra, and Maria-chan for their kind words.

I will finally give the mysterious 'him' a name in the next chapter. He deserves so much more, but I can only give him a name temporarily.


	4. Bye Bye Baby

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Konomi Takeshi, various publishers including but not limited to Shueisha and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warning: Longer chapter than usual due to upload problems.

Chapter Four: Bye Bye Baby

**I. Marilyn Sings**

Usually his shift ended around four a. m when the rest of the city was still sleeping and only a handful of nightcrawlers was awake. He worked as a bartender at a small bar, Le Mirage, and business was always slow after the clock turned to one or two. Nevertheless he got paid quite handsomely to stay up, nursing drunken salarymen and playing obedient host. Marilyn didn't complain, he never did. He was a practical man, complaining would never get him anywhere. Besides he loved being in that odd group consisting of people who really knew and worked for the night.

The clock on the wall told him that his shift would end in fifteen minutes. His gaze swept around the dimly lit space and fell on a slumped figure at the end of the room. He sighed. Another one, too drunk to get home. He felt sorry for the chap, but it seemed that this guy would have to walk home or sleep next to the trash cans outside. The other patrons had slowly filtered out of the door, leaving him alone with the drunk. The last one threw him a crumpled one-thousand yen note while hiccuping and it had hit his cheek. When he smoothed the bill, the familiar face of Soseki stared up at him. In the background, another Marilyn sang.

_  
I'll be in my room alone_

_every post meridian_

_and I'll read my diary_

_and that book by Mister Gideon. _

He approached the still figure with caution. Years of tending the bar had taught him one lesson, never underestimate the drunk. They might lash out and do something totally unpredictable, like getting violent or homicidal. Marilyn involuntarily shuddered, realizing that this man was not one of the regulars. Who knew what he was? He had read somewhere that bartenders are easy targets once the closing hours are near.

"Hey, mister? We're closing in about ten minutes. You okay there?" He shook the man's shoulder and felt the soft fabric under his touch. It felt expensive. Marilyn caught a scent of the man's cologne drenched in alcohol and wondered why such rich guy would be spending his night (and money) in a small establishment such this.

The figure stirred awake, his face now turning towards the bartender. Marilyn felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. _God, he's gorgeous._ He didn't remember serving a customer this good-looking anything, so he had to come before Marilyn's shift had started. How many hours ago was it? Seven, eight?

Gorgeous, and obviously very, very drunk.

"Mister?"

A hand shot upward and caught Marilyn's collar. In one jerk, he was brought down face to face with the drunken customer, who was now snarling. "H-h-he...," the slur came out slowly but audible, "...t-th-told...me..."

Marilyn could smell the stench of alcohol since the customer's mouth was just a breath away from his own. A thought flashed through his mind, '_It's been so long since I see somebody this up close,'_ and he twitched a bit. The path where his thoughts were going was very dangerous. _There are more pressing matters at hand here, _he told himself, though strangely Marilyn was not that afraid. He was a good judge of character and seeing the man in front of him right now, whose sight was not even directed at him but someone ghostly, he only felt pity. Gently he pried his collar off from the other man's deathly grip, it simply won't do if he had to buy another shirt just because of one customer could not control his drinking and emotions. Even paying his rent had become somewhat difficult after that bastard Kiyosumi moved out despite his steady income.

_Damn, I think about him again._

The customer still clung at him, now trying to stand on both feet. It was hard because he was constantly losing his balance, though in the end he staggered towards the door with Marilyn's help. All the way he was muttering something under his breath. Marilyn caught words of 'promise', 'dead', 'lover', and 'bitch' but the rest of the sentences were swallowed blur.

_Ah, love trouble._ By this realization Marilyn smiled a knowing smile. He, too, had been through something like this several times over in the past. It didn't matter that it was with the same person, every time, because at last their on and off relationship had come to a permanent finish. The bastard moved out, didn't he?

_Yup, he did. Maybe now Kiyosumi is sleeping with that new pretty boy of his._

Gingerly Marilyn opened the door leading outside and the chilly morning air greeted both him and his burden. He was half-convinced that the man he was holding up had slept standing, but his worries had no grounds. As soon as they stepped out into the night-turned-morning sky, the customer seemed to regain an ounce of alertness. He freed himself from Marilyn's arms and started walking by himself. The sight of his back seemed so forlorn it caught Marilyn breathless. Suddenly he felt lonely, the loneliest he had ever been since Kiyosumi declared that he had enough six months ago. In the past Kiyosumi had always said that, but he never failed to come back home afterwards. Not this time, apparently, because there had been no words from him since he packed his trunks and left in a cab.

_I miss Kiyosumi,_ Marilyn thought with a certainty that scared him. He saw that the customer had made his way up the stony stairs, holding on the railings to prevent himself from falling. The bartender only watched as he slowly took another step into the clearing. As soon as his head was visible to plain view, a car came and stopped directly in front of the customer. Not just any car, Marilyn noticed from where he was standing, it was an imported Bentley with a driver (in a uniform, nevertheless) who had opened the passenger door and waited patiently and respectfully as his charge swayed towards the beautiful ensemble. A goddamn Bentley. Not in a million years would his wage as a bartender buy him such classy car. But Marilyn was not thinking about how exquisite the car was, oddly enough it was the driver's expression that struck him. He was _worried_ about the man who was now trying to enter the car without bumping his head on the ceiling. Even that drunk, rich, gorgeous _lonely_ guy had someone to worry over him. The driver had obviously waited the whole night for his boss.

When they were gone, all those sleek and grace of another world he couldn't possibly comprehend, Marilyn went back inside the empty bar. _Closing time_. He tidied up the place a bit, swept behind the counter, and wiped the tables. Then he put all the cleaned glasses behind the case and flicked the light off. The other Marilyn still sang, her voice echoed in the dark.

_  
I've been lonely_

_but even though I'm lonely_

_there'll be no other guy. _

Marilyn picked the telephone and dialed a number. A sleepy voice mumbled an answer after several rings, "Hullo?"

"Kiyosumi?"

"Takahisa?" a breathless recognition in the voice.

Though I'll be gone for a while

I know that I'll be smiling

with my baby by and by

with my baby by and by.

Then Marilyn, who was better known as Kajimoto Takahisa to a very few personal friends, smiled. He felt his eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill out after hearing the voice he still loved so much. Softly he whispered the words he should've said months ago,

"I miss you."

- - - - - -

**II. Of Golden Birds, Friends, and Lunch at Home**

Atobe Keigo came calling at exactly twelve o'clock noon the next day. Dressed again to perfection, this time a casual white cashmere sweater over a light blue cotton shirt and a pair of khaki slacks, Atobe looked the part of a wealthy heir. His trademark smug grin was also plastered on his handsome face, which seemed a bit strained somehow. In his hand was a pretty little box he deftly handed to Fujiko as soon as the companion approached the client. Atobe didn't say a thing, he just waited for the other man to take the box from his hand.

The companion slowly reached for the box, his eyes inquiring,_ For me?_

Atobe nodded and the box was accepted by two curious hands. He noticed how small and white the hands were, with slender wrists and long, elegant fingers, so much like their owner. A smile formed in the corner of his mouth, seeing the cautious way Fuji handled the box, as if waiting for some kind of death trap to spring out and eat him alive.

The companion looked up and saw Atobe smirking, only to return it with his own puzzled smile. He couldn't help it, really, because Atobe had looked very satisfied with himself. The man actually thought that he had the companion won over. What had passed between them the day before seemed to be non-existent as far as Atobe was concerned. _Fine, if he wants to pretend that yesterday didn't happen, I won't care. Two can play the game,_ Fujiko thought.

"Gifts already, Atobe-sama? Saa...you're fast, aren't you?"

"I waste no time, Fuji-san," Atobe said innocently.

"Fujiko," corrected the companion sweetly.

"Fuji-kun," Atobe tried again.

"Fu-ji-_ko_."

"Fuji then," Atobe said, satisfied.

"You'll never give up, won't you?"

"I'm not a quitter." Atobe's smile was now wider.

"All right, have it your way," Fujiko said, though it irritated him to no end that Atobe should call him so intimately. He knew that if he kept on refusing Atobe's wish there would be problems in the end.

Fuji was now opening the box carefully. He had removed the wrapping papers from the box and was now trying to take out the contents. Upon seeing what was inside the box, Fuji let out a gasp of admiration.

"This..." He looked up to the client, speechless.

"I've ordered them made especially for you," Atobe said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He then watched, bemused, as Fuji methodically took the contents out of the box. On Fuji's hands now was a tiny, yellow bird made of sugar with its delicate wings so real it would not be a real surprise if the bird suddenly took off and flew away. The green orbs of the bird's eyes contrasted prettily with the color of its body, which was sprinkled rich with dark cinnamon.

"Try it," Atobe commanded.

"It's too pretty to eat, Atobe-sama," the companion replied, with a hint of regret in his voice. Fuji's eyes never left the little thing cupped in his hands.

"Well, if you're not eating it, the sugar will just melt because of the heat from your palms. Now that won't be pretty, would it?"

Fuji thought of this for a second before popping the bird into his mouth. Atobe just stared. For most people in Fuji's line of profession, the sugar bird would make a good chance to showcase some skills with their mouths. He knew that some power of seduction came from the expert movements of the tongue and lips if they were done right. It would be smart to use these techniques deliberately to please the clients. But what Fuji was doing now in front of him was a blatant act of eating, not seduction. Eating as in chewing, licking his fingers, and swallowing the warm melted sugar down his throat. In pure pleasure.

And damn if it wasn't the sexiest thing Atobe had ever seen in his life.

"It's really good, Atobe-sama. Please, share it with me?" the companion offered, oblivious to Atobe's reaction.

"No, they're all for you. Peace offering," Atobe answered, adjusting his stance so that the other man would not see the uncomfortable tightness in his pants.

"Oh?" Fuji's smile demanded an explanation.

"I lost my temper with you yesterday and I did some things I rather not repeat," the client said directly.

Fuji was not expecting this, especially not from Atobe. _He's apologizing. Almost_.

"You did surprise me, Atobe-sama," the companion retorted, not quite giving in, "I have the bruises to prove it." Fuji touched his left arm slightly and Atobe felt the lowest in months. He remembered grasping those slender arm in anger. Violence was never a way for him if it was not truly required, and subjecting a person, especially_ this _person, to his unfounded wrath was not a good manner.

When Atobe Keigo made a mistake, he would be a man enough to admit it. To the companion he offered his right hand, "I was wrong, it will not happen again."

Fuji took the offered hand and shook it firmly, "It's all right, Atobe-sama. I understand."

Atobe nodded and let the slender hand go, before realizing that he was left with traces of sugar on his own hand. The companion smirked, Atobe saw the mischievous glints on Fuji's eyes, and they both broke out into knowing grins at the same time. Fuji's idea of revenge was a bit twisted, but Atobe admired his quick-thinking. For a brief period, the atmosphere seemed much lighter.

"So? We can start afresh?" the client asked, riding the momentum.

Fuji sobered up and contemplated that statement for a while before finally shaking his head. "There'll never be a fresh start between us."

Visibly, Atobe winced. He didn't mean it the way Fuji answered it, but now he realized that the companion had no intention of letting him forget that he was always going to be the one person who took away Fuji's chance of a different, better life.

"Hey," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I tried."

Fuji just smiled and for once Atobe didn't like its presence on the companion's face. That smile hid too much. Was it pain? Was it anger? Or was it hatred similar to the one he saw flashing through those clear blue orbs yesterday?

Probably all of those, and more.

No, he supposed it was Fuji's chance for a perfect,_ ideal_ life that he had destroyed when he took Tezuka Kunimitsu with him on a two-man team mountaineering trip to conquer the Carstensz Pyramid in Papua.

And came back alone.

_Tell him, tell him, Keigo..._

The moment he lost his grip on Tezuka on that mountain, Atobe knew that one person was beginning to die slowly inside.

He just never realized that he wasn't the only one.

- - - - - -

Fuji took a seat at one of the leather couch and gestured Atobe to do the same. Today Shuuko had assigned another room for their encounter. The place was aptly dubbed "The Maharani Suite" for its bright interior. White, billowing laced curtains decorated the half-opened windows with polished wooden frame. One could see the view of the entire city if one stepped outside the balcony. The building in which The Club operated was a skyscraper at the downtown area. The Club itself owned the upper half of the building, which gave the establishment an air of prestige. Light scents of jasmine filled the room as sprigs of the delicate white flowers were put into various vases all over the room. Gold ornaments and statues with intricate designs were displayed boldly on the tables, along with numerous pictures of lush India, living up to its namesake.

Atobe had been fingering one Ganesha statue made of ivory, whose one tusk was deliberately shortened. He was quite impressed on the craftsmanship, thinking that it was probably a genuine relic from the land of the Taj Mahal.

"You're saving the rest for later?" he asked, while examining the statue. It did not escape his attention that Fuji had put the wrappings back inside and closed the box of sugar birds.

"Oh, no. I think my friends would like to try some as well, they have fondness for sweets too," Fuji said.

"Friends? In this place?" Atobe asked, intrigued. His attention was quickly diverted to the other man again. He'd never thought that the companion had friends. All this time, his images of Fuji consisted of a faceless person whose acquaintances were wealthy men. They could hardly be described as _friends_, as Fuji himself had put it. The impression of the word 'friend' seemed so childlike, unfit for this person who was so experienced in the secular matters.

"Yes, there are some," Fuji said reluctantly. He'd rather not talk about the other companions. Atobe surely wouldn't want to hear about how Eiji was brutalized for spilling a drink on a client's new pair of slacks, how Muu-chan sometimes bit his own fist until it bled to stop the cries from coming out, or how Shuuko agonized when he had to choose clients for his own lover and friends and drank himself to oblivion afterwards.

"Now you get me curious. Tell me about them," Atobe said, while taking a seat across Fuji.

"Ah, there's not much to tell, really," Fuji hesitated. He raked his brain for another topic of conversation, but faced with Atobe's interested eyes, Fuji simply couldn't bring himself to talk about other things. Maybe Atobe would understand, maybe he would listen and respond with an uncanny kindness not all people possess. Maybe he would see past the companion title these young men held with heavy hearts.

Maybe, just maybe, Atobe could for one minute pretend to forget that he was in the company of a prostitute.

_Really, who am I kidding? This is Atobe, after all._

Fuji did not think he had ever been so out of words in his life, but at the moment he was. Atobe didn't deserve to know about Fuji's private life, he was a client, a nobody after all things had been said and done. Fuji didn't know what to think of Atobe and he didn't understand why Atobe should be there in the first place. Yesterday he mentioned a promise, Fuji understood that much. That one person who bound them had from his grave arranged these fated meetings, never fully realizing just how much amount of self-control it took for Fuji to sit there, accept Atobe's friendly manners, and smile.

_Kunimitsu, you silly man..._

And Atobe, being more foolish than Fuji had thought of, had resigned himself to fulfilling that promise when he could just conveniently forget about it. After all, it had been a year since Kunimitsu's body was found among the lower rocks of Carstensz, looking as if he was just sleeping. A year was a long time, when each passing day itself stretched like forever.

Fuji didn't need a reminder that his lover was dead, and that's exactly what Atobe was, a reminder.

And Fuji didn't know what to say, so he smiled until it hurt.

- - - - - -

He began talking about Eiji. What possessed Fuji to do so was still unknown to him. His first narration began with the event that happened last night, seeing with a perverse pleasure how Atobe's eyes widened with undisguised shock when he described Eiji's predicament. Fuji felt slightly guilty exploiting his own friend's misery, but the need to give Atobe a slap of _his _reality was stronger.

When he had finished with Eiji's story, Fuji stopped, breathless. He hadn't realized that words were actually pouring out from his mouth after the initial doubt had surpassed. Atobe had not said a thing, he just looked at Fuji with indecipherable expression on his face and an unwilling blush formed on Fuji's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Fuji began, "That was selfish of me, it must be terribly boring for you, Atobe-sama."

"No, don't apologize," Atobe waved a hand, "I found myself unable to interrupt you." That was true, once Fuji had begun talking in his low, soft voice the whole room seemed to melt away and Atobe saw only the companion. He heard every word and understood the meanings behind them.

_This is my friend, this is how he hurts, and this is how I hurt for him. This is my life. Do you see me?_

Yes, oh yes. Atobe saw Fuji clearly.

The client took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and dialed a number. In no time he was talking on the phone, "Kabaji? Front lobby, in ten minutes."

"Atobe-sama?" Fuji was confused. _Is he that bored he wants to leave so desperately?_

Atobe dialed another number and this time it took a couple of seconds before somebody answered. "Oba-san? This is Keigo. I will bring a guest home for lunch. How's Junnichiro? Fine? Good, I'll be home soon." He hung up and pocketed his cell phone.

"Atobe-sama? I don't under-"

"Come on, I'll take you to lunch," the client said, rising up from his seat.

"Pardon me? But Shuuko-" Fuji wanted to tell Atobe that the Club had provided refreshments and meals should they become necessary, just a phone call away. It was all part of the service.

"I have you for the whole day, don't I? I want to spend it my way. Now, come."

"Please wait a minute, I need to tell Shuuko," Fuji said quickly. He didn't mind leaving the Club's premises with clients, as long as they had prior agreements. That way Shuuko would know where to contact him if anything should occur. The Club had a strict regulations about cell phones, only the escort companions are allowed to have them. Since Fuji mainly worked inside the building, he didn't have one.

The companion called Shuuko from one of the phone in the room, and after explaining to his friend about Atobe's request to leave the building, Fuji turned towards the client and whispered, "Where are we going?"

"Home."

Without pausing the companion said into the receiver," We're going to Atobe-sama's residence, Shuuko. Do you have the number? Yes? All right. I will, bye." Putting the receiver back, Fuji realized that he had been played directly to Atobe's hands. It was not unheard of for a client to bring a companion to his own private residence, if the client could be discreet. But for a man of Atobe's status, it would seem awkward should he associate himself openly with Fuji. Bringing the companion home, for lunch he said, would only raise questions. Atobe Keigo was far from stupid, so he must've had an ulterior motive to risk his reputation like that.

"Why, Atobe-sama?" Fuji asked when they were inside the elevator descending to the ground floor.

"I want you to meet Junnichiro," the client answered, his eyes staring ahead.

"Who is Junnichiro?" Fuji was getting more bewildered by the moment.

The client paused a second before answering, "My son."

- - - - - -

to be continued

- - - - - -

Author's Notes:

**I. Marilyn Sings**:

-The song above is "Bye Bye Baby" sung by the legendary Marilyn Monroe (Music by Jules Styne / Lyrics by Leo Robin). My first impression on Kajimoto Takahisa was, "Ooh, Marilyn!", hence the nickname.

**-**Soseki Natsume (1867-1916) was a Japanese writer. His picture appears on the 1000 yen note which soon to be replaced.

**II. Of Golden Birds, Friends, and Lunch at Home**

-Some of you might have noticed that Fuji and Atobe don't act like traditional Japanese hosts and guests. Normally, a guest must be reserved and should not ask for anything until the host offers. As for the host, he must anticipate the guest's needs even before the guest knows of it. Well, Atobe being the diva he is refuses to be meek and humble, and Fuji has his own agenda. The result is two people who dance around each other, breaking conventions now and then.

-Indonesia's **Carstensz Pyramid** (16,023ft/4,884m) is Australasia's highest mountain, one of the seven summits of the world that is currently in dispute. Located in the inlands of Papua, formerly known as Irian Jaya, this peak is famous for its wildlife and the native customs of the Dani people.

Questions & Answers

**Q :** What is this promise which Atobe has to keep?  
**A :** Can you not guess? More to come.

**Q :** Why is Fuji a companion when he clearly does not like being one?  
**Q :** Could you explain why they become 'companions'?  
**A :** Great questions! The reason why these characters became companions in the first place is the need for money. I use the euphemism 'companions' because I cannot bring myself to call these beloved boys 'prostitutes', though I suppose I should do exactly that in all fairness. They are paid to please the clients, even though in this setting they are much more fortunate than those in the same profession. A very small percentage of prostitutes is able to choose their own clients and this is what I try to describe as the way of the Club. This is actually one aspect of the story that I find a bit difficult to incorporate into this fic. I don't want this fanfic to evolve into a behemoth of tens of thousands of words (though it probably will, at this rate), so I might make a separate installment for the companion's backgrounds.

**Q :** So the 'him' in this chapter ('Interlude') is not one of PoT characters?  
**A :** That's correct. He is a client that goes violent after poor Kikumaru spilled a drink onto his new pair of pants. Unfortunately, it was not the first time the beatings occurred. For Eiji's sake, I hope it was a really hot liquid.

This chapter comes out longer than I expected, partly because I feel necessary to compensate for the lateness of this installment. FFnet wouldn't allow me to upload anything during the weekends, so there you go. The story plus some extra padding.

Love to all readers and reviewers: sTaR SnipEr, Maria-chan, yoshikochan, firefly, WoLfePaWs, and Yuna. Your questions and comments are really helpful in my planning ahead for the next chapters. Thank you! As always, concrits are much appreciated.

One last thing before I end this super long A/N, do you think it's better to make the first part, i.e **Marilyn Sings**, into a separate side story? Or should I just discard it?


	5. In Love

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Konomi Takeshi, various publishers including but not limited to Shueisha and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Five: In Love

_Unless you enter the tiger's den, you cannot take the cubs  
_-Japanese proverb.

Arriving at the Atobe residence twenty-five minutes later, Fuji was greeted by a sight of two-year-old Jun running towards his father. The boy was as lively as a toddler could get and supported by his awkward, chubby legs, he dashed to meet them. A middle-aged woman was keeping a careful distance behind him. At the last second, Jun's legs gave away and he stumbled forward.

Fuji let out a gasp of shock and reacted quickly ahead of the others. With one instinctive scoop he had Atobe Jun in his arms. Luckily for the child, he didn't have to meet the floor face first; instead he was safely cocooned, dangling from the stranger's arms.

"Aa…." Fuji began, the shock had yet to ebb away. "Thank god." He sighed and hoisted the child into a protective hug.

"Jun-sama!" cried the woman, now rushing to Fuji's side. The companion smiled politely at the distressed woman and he slightly bowed. The toddler cooed.

Atobe Keigo, who was holding his breath the entire time, released it with a bark. "Haven't I told you not to let Jun wander around the house like that?"

The woman shrunk in fear. "I'm sorry, Keigo-sama! He was running just fine and I thought that he would be okay, but—"

"Saa," Fuji interrupted.

Exasperated, Atobe turned around to face the companion, who was still hugging his son. "Yes?"

"Aa, it's wet."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's wet. I think he just…." Fuji didn't finish. He had Jun by an arm length and some liquid dripped to the floor. The companion's front shirt was moist and he grimaced at the damage. Jun was on the verge of tears.

Silence.

"Junnichiro!"

* * *

Atobe senior took his guest to the nearest bathroom. "At this point," he had told the companion, "just changing clothes won't wash away the stench." He let Fuji borrow a house yukata, until the companion's own clothes had been washed and dried. The nanny had whisked away Jun from Fuji and proceeded to give the toddler a bath of his own. 

Inside the spacious _ofuro_, Fuji wondered if what just had transpired could be considered a good omen. _Being humbled by the great Atobe name, in the most unexpected way._ Fuji washed and lathered some soap on his body, taking his time, sometimes chuckling when he remembered the look of pure terror in Atobe Keigo's face. He rinsed, but decided against soaking in the deep, wooden tub, though as tempting as it was. It would impolite to keep his host waiting, Fuji decided with regret.

_But he hasn't apologized_, Fuji thought absent-mindedly_. Oh, well._

After drying himself, he moved to the adjacent room, wrapped in towel. Fuji donned the light-blue yukata and adjusted it to cover his torso modestly. It was slightly too big for him, and Fuji had some difficulties of making it look presentable.

He was in the middle of wrapping the obi around the hip when a voice startled him. "Are you done?"

Fuji turned around and saw his client leaning lazily against the door frame.

"How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough to know that you're having some trouble with that yukata." Atobe approached the shorter man with a grin on his face. "Do you mind?"

Fuji smiled, he knew what was coming, and raised his arms. "No, go ahead."

Slowly, Atobe placed his hands on Fuji's waist and turned him so that the companion's back was now facing him. He unwrapped the _obi_, and the _migoro_ came loose. Fuji shivered lightly, as the air touched his damp, naked skin. From behind, Atobe's gentle fingers took the right migoro and pulled it around Fuji's body, followed shortly by the left flap, over the right one. Fuji felt Atobe's arms on his sides, working expertly.

"Hold this for me," he told the companion. His warm breath tickled Fuji's nape and the companion fought the urge to blush. Fuji obeyed, putting his hand on top of the left migoro while Atobe, with one deft motion, wrapped the obi around Fuji's hip and tied one knot at the center, in the back.

"We're done," Atobe said, but his hands lingered on Fuji's hip.

"Thank—"

"Thank me later," Atobe said huskily. He pressed a kiss behind Fuji's ear and left without any other words. The instant he was gone, Fuji felt a strange chill on his back, as if some part of him was gone.

* * *

_A good husband is healthy and absent  
_-Japanese proverb. 

"So…," one voice trailed on.

"Yes?" the other replied, while his hands were busy handling an active little boy perched comfortably on his lap. The said boy had a distinct shade of black hair similar to the older man's. Not only that, his large, round, dark eyes were exact copies of his father's. Both made a striking, handsome picture in Fuji's eyes.

"I didn't expect you to be a father," he said. They were sitting inside a traditional room, on the tatami floor, cushions forgotten. Lunch was being prepared at the next room, and while waiting Atobe decided that he would play with his son. The breeze that came through the opened shoji felt nice and Fuji got a view of the _engawa_ and the house's beautiful garden.

"That surely surprised many," Atobe answered, "though being the only male heir of the family I don't see why it should come as a shock."

"Of course," Fuji said, though his brain was thinking busily at the moment. _Arranged marriage? Most likely, considering that if what happened yesterday was any indication of his preference…or he could be swinging both ways. _

"Though I could use another son or two," Atobe said lightly. The boy on his lap was now trying to crawl his way out. A large hand dragged him back gently.

"And what's holding you back, Atobe-sama?" the companion asked. He might get the answer to his question earlier than he'd expected.

"His mother died," the client answered without even changing his tone. His son was stubbornly continuing his struggle for freedom. A tickle on his belly was all it took for him to go down, defeated, in a midst of babyish laughter and giggles.

Fuji didn't know how he should respond to Atobe's statement. He just stared at the man and his son, who were now engaged in a playful tickling game, though it was hardly a match at all. There was supposed to be a third person in that picture. _A woman,_ Fuji thought, _Atobe's wife should be there to complete the perfect family picture._ But the sight in front of him seemed very natural, like it had always been like that, and Fuji doubted that it could get more_ right_ than that.

"I'm sorry," he offered politely, "it must've been hard for you, Atobe-sama."

"Not really, I have a lot of people here to help me with Jun." Another gentle tickle onto the chest, followed by another baby chortle from his son.

_Is he being intentionally stubborn? Atobe knows that's not what I meant._

"Oh, your wife—"

"Was a nice girl, but she's not exactly what I had in mind," the client supplied smoothly. "Azusa was too delicate for her own good. She gave everything she had for Jun."

Fuji said quickly, "I didn't meant to pry, please don't—"

"Aren't you curious?" Atobe cut him short.

A pause. Fuji thought that Atobe was being uncharacteristically blunt. _He's humoring me._ _Was I that obvious?_

"Azusa died during childbirth. I don't feel like remarrying, and I already have an heir." Atobe said it like he was citing some tiresome facts. _Heartless_, the word came to Fuji's mind.

"Is that enough?" Atobe asked.

Fuji thought that the last question sounded like a warning. "I was rude, Atobe-sama. My apologies."

Atobe Keigo waved an impatient hand. "I got used to it. When you're well-known like me, everybody has a question to ask."

This time he had let his son crawl over to Fuji's lap. Without thinking the companion reached out and hoisted the little boy up to stand on his left thigh. He needed some distractions from the uneasy atmosphere that suddenly filled the room. Closer, Jun smelled nice and clean, even after his little 'incident'.

Forcing himself to smile at the boy, Fuji said, "You're not going to wet yourself on me again, are you?"

Jun burped in response.

The boy's little fingers were now exploring Fuji's face and hair with unfeigned interest. Maybe it was his first time meeting a stranger. Fuji opened his eyes a bit to let the boy see them, and he got the result he wanted. The boy's face lit up and he let out a happy shriek.

Fuji reflexively brought the boy closer, only to feel the softness of the toddler's flesh against his own. A surge of warm feelings burst inside him. _Life._ It was life that he felt climbing on his lap and tugging strands of his hair. It was life that smelled like baby powder, baby oil, and baby soap. It was life that stared back at him wide eyed, as if pleading, _Look closer. _

The boy kept on looking at the companion. Time had stopped between them and nothing else mattered at that moment. There were only him, the boy, and his father. Fuji's gaze darted back and forward between the two Atobe.

_Do you see that there's more than what you thought?_

Yes, oh yes. Fuji saw it in those young, child eyes. He could not read it in the father's eyes, but the son hadn't learned how to conceal his heart yet. The child knew his father better than anyone.

The companion didn't realize that his smile had faltered considerably when he took Jun and held him close. Atobe Keigo, on the other hand, saw it crumble. It gave away for the softest expression on Fuji's face that Atobe had ever seen. Real, unguarded Fuji.

And he was not smiling.

* * *

"So, I suppose I'm here to meet this little Atobe prince?" Fuji said after a while, his smile back on place. 

"Ore-sama!" the boy wailed. His father only smirked approvingly.

"Maa, your son is very much like you," the companion responded to the sudden outburst.

"I surely hope so, only an Atobe can raise another Atobe."

"Cocky, aren't you?" Fuji teased.

Atobe smirked. "No, confident."

A pause.

"Misguided is more likely," Fuji said thoughtfully.

"I'm just being honest."

"Insufferable," the companion huffed.

"And you're stubborn," the client retorted without pausing.

"I'd rather call it persistent."

"One must know his limit," Atobe replied.

"Do _you_?"

A big, victorious grin appeared on Atobe's handsome face and he said with satisfaction, "There's nothing off-limit to ore-sama."

Throughout the exchange of words, little Atobe Jun looked at both adults with questions in his eyes. He had never seen his father play with another big person like that, with each word said it seemed that his father's smile lifted up a bit. Of course Jun was looking at his father with adoring, clouded eyes, so it's understandable that he missed the look of hunger in Atobe Keigo's eyes.

"Spoiled," this time it came from the stranger with pretty eyes who was still hugging him. Jun liked being hugged and he didn't mind this new person at all. Especially when this big person was affectionately patting his thigh with soft, steady fingers, lulling the toddler into a dreamy state. Jun let out a yawn.

His father sighed and took the boy from Fuji.

"I promised you lunch, didn't I?"

The companion smiled. "Yes, you did."

* * *

—Ohiru-gohan— 

Lunch was surprisingly simple. Fuji had expected something much more luxurious than a bowl of rice sprinkled with sesame seeds, grilled salmon, pickled daikon and ume, rolled omelet, and seaweeds. He thought that it looked curiously similar to a child's bento before seeing that Jun's smaller meal was served in a very cute bento.

Atobe, noticing the companion's sudden interest on his son's lunch, provided the answer to Fuji's unspoken question. "He wants to eat like a big boy."

"Oh." A warm smile appeared on Fuji's face. "But he is a big boy already."

"Don't let him hear you. We'll never hear the end of it," Atobe muttered.

They ate their meals in respectful silence, with the occasional instructions from Atobe to his son. Jun had not been able to handle the chopsticks correctly, but he was exempted from further struggle when his nanny gave him a plastic fork. When the adults had finished their meals, Jun was still chewing the same thing for the last ten minutes.

"Junnichiro, swallow it. Your teeth will get rotten if you keep food inside your mouth like that," Atobe said.

Jun pouted, but he obeyed in the end.

* * *

After lunch, Atobe sneaked a fruit drop into Fuji's palm when the nanny was busy taking care of the plates. He sucked one himself, keeping it under his tongue, and got another one out for his son. 

Keeping the fruit drop between his thumb and index finger, Atobe senior let Jun happily taste the sweet. "He's too small to have one by himself, but Jun loves the melon taste."

Fuji thought that the way Atobe indulged his son was truly endearing. He too remembered eating fruit drops when he had been a kid. Call it a coincidence, but it was exactly the same brand he had known.

"I used to eat these after school," Fuji began, feeling nostalgic. "Of course, Yuuta was also—"

All of a sudden Fuji's hands flew to his mouth. A look of undisguised shock was apparent on his face, and his opened eyes betrayed his own confusion. He kept his hands where they were, covering his mouth.

"Fuji?" Atobe called.

"I-I'm… Excuse me." Without finishing his sentence, Fuji fled the room. He ignored Atobe's calling after him. Nauseated, Fuji searched for a toilet in the large house. He remembered the bathroom he had used before and headed there.

_I said his name, I said Yuuta's name. Oh, god._

He reached the toilet just in time, and heaved all of his lunch out.

* * *

Fuji had washed his mouth and face thoroughly when Atobe came to see him. Without saying anything, Atobe came closer and rubbed Fuji's back in a slow, deliberate motion. The companion's sagged shoulder trembled and his grip on the sink tightened. 

"Don't." Fuji waved Atobe's hand off. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Kanou-san, my cook, was upset. She thinks that you're sick because of the food," Atobe said lightly.

"Nonsense," Fuji snorted.

"That's what I told her. Ore-sama can only eat the best food, so there's nothing wrong with her cooking, ne?"

Fuji chuckled. "You're trying to make me feel better."

"Look at me, Fuji," Atobe said.

The companion flinched; he still could not accept Atobe's calling him so intimately. Wiping his mouth, he turned around and looked at his client in the eyes. One strong hand brought him closer to the taller man, and to Fuji's dismay, he noticed that his full height only reached Atobe's chin.

Still rubbing Fuji's back with one hand, Atobe's other hand encircled the waist. Impulsively Fuji held onto Atobe's shirt. They stayed like that for some time—their bodies barely touching, leaving an impenetrable, empty space in between—not saying anything, just breathing. Inhaling and exhaling, listening to the merging rhythm of their hearts, being aware of each other's touch, knowing that they were hindered only by the fabrics of their clothes.

Fuji knew that he read the client correctly. Atobe wanted him, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the seemingly innocent rubbing motion was meant to be more. What Fuji didn't expect was his own reaction to Atobe's moves. He wasn't a stranger to lust, being what he was, but there was an inexplicable urgency that he had never experienced before.

Atobe had been very patient, considering that he had not made any sexual proposition to Fuji. He kissed Fuji twice, but he had never gone further than that. Every touch he had made burnt Fuji's skin, every touch withdrawn left a void. Usually, his clients would not wait two days when they wanted something. They came and went as they pleased, giving him large tips when they were satisfied with _themselves_.

But Atobe was different.

He took his time, controlling his own desire, for a purpose Fuji didn't know. He even brought Fuji to his home, to meet and have lunch with his son. Atobe wanted him, but he hesitated. Why?

Deep down, Fuji might have known the answer to his own question. Nevertheless, tracing the buttons on Atobe's shirt, Fuji whispered another question, "What do you want?"

Atobe took his time answering. "I don't know."

"Why did you come to me?"

"To see you."

"Because he told you to—"

"No. Not because of _him_."

"No?"

"Maybe," Atobe paused, "maybe I did, yesterday. But I came today for my own reasons."

Fuji placed his palm on Atobe's chest. "What do you ask of me?"

The hand that enclosed around Fuji's waist pulled the companion closer, so that their bodies were pressed against each other.

"Allow me this," Atobe whispered, barely audible. Fuji realized that the client wasn't asking _his_ permission. Atobe was talking to someone else. Someone long gone. Fuji ached inside, because he knew.

He knew.

And he pleaded too.

_Please_.

* * *

To be continued

* * *

Author's Notes:

Ofuro: Traditional Japanese bath.  
-Yukata: A single-layer cotton kimono, worn usually as a loungewear or nightwear or during summer.  
-Obi: Sash for kimono or yukata.  
-Migoro: The flaps (main parts) of yukata.  
-Shoji: Sliding screen door.  
-Engawa: Porch in the traditional Japanese house.  
-Ohiru-gohan: lunch.  
-Daikon and ume: Radish and plum.

I thank Hikari noYami, yoshikochan, no name, Yukirei, La Folle, WoLfePaWs, Dana a.k.a Setsuna Muraki, RoYale, and violet angel007 for their thoughtful and uplifting reviews. I can't ask for more, really.

I apologize for the long delay in the update. Other obligations (and other plotbunnies) demanded priority.

I was thinking, maybe R is a better rating than PG-13, considering the way the story progresses. What say you?

Concrits always have a special place in my heart. Hint. Hint. Ah, sod subtlety off. If you think something needs improvement, let me know. Thanks.


End file.
